


Paint the Sky

by myusernamehere



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Tumblr: promptsinpanem, r6d7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myusernamehere/pseuds/myusernamehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is black and white. Then Peeta Mellark arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint the Sky

The world is black and white.

Like the fresh coat of snow that lies upon the earth during the cold, long winter. And the smoke that billows high into the sky, sheathing our district with its ebony filth.

It's like the photograph of my father that hangs upon the mantle, reminding me time and time again that he's no longer here with us. He's a casualty of the mines, the same as Gale's father. The same as so many fathers here in the Seam.

Life is monotonous in District 12; we've fallen into the same dreary routine. School, work, survival. These are the things that matter to people. There's hardly any joy to be found these days, and there's certainly no laughter ringing in the streets. But who has the time to waste on such frivolous matters as happiness? Happiness doesn't fill the belly or keep a roof over one's head.

Happiness is just a long forgotten dream.

There's a knock on the front door, and I know it must be Madge coming to collect me for our trek to school. Madge is the Mayor's daughter, and I'm not really sure how the two of us ended up as friends, if you could even call us that. Gale is the only true friend I have. After my father passed, I had to learn very quickly how to survive on my own. Thankfully, he taught me how to use a bow and arrow, and I spent a lot of time hunting in the woods. In fact, that's where I bumped into Gale for the first time. He and I had the same idea: stay alive and provide for our families.

If it were up to me, I would spend my days in those woods. But Gale is working in the coal mines now, and I promised my sister Prim I would finish my schooling. I want to set a good example for her because my mother certainly hasn't always set one. She became too emotionally unstable and withdrawn after my father's death. And I had to become the sole breadwinner for our family. My mother's finally coming around, though, and she's passing her healing knowledge onto Prim, who's taken a definite interest in the field of medicine. She's young still but so smart.

When I answer the door, Madge is standing there in her drab uniform. Her hair is down, hanging loosely, whereas mine sits upon my shoulder in its usual braid. My hair is as dark as the coal in the mines, but Madge's is much lighter, similar to that of my sister's and my mother's as well as most people that come from the merchant class. I look more like my father did. The grey hue of my eyes matches the rest of me. Madge has a fairer complexion, and although she's thin, she's certainly more well-fed than I am.

"Are you ready?" she chirps.

I nod as I grab my books, and we head on our way. School is boring and unfulfilling, just like everything else. But then about halfway through the day, something interesting actually happens. Our teacher, Mr. Abernathy, ushers an unfamiliar boy into our classroom.

I try to get a good look at him. His hair, which falls in waves upon his forehead, is a lighter shade like Madge's. He's broad shouldered and medium height, though certainly taller than me. His eyes are also a light shade. He would fit in with the merchant class around here, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him before.

“Class, this is Peeta Mellark. He’s a transfer student.” Well, that would certainly explain it. “Please make him feel welcome.”

Peeta looks around at various chairs before zeroing in on the one next to me. Smiling at me broadly, he asks, “Is this seat taken?”

I shrug. “I don’t think so.”

He slips into the chair easily, placing his sack of books on the ground near his feet. As inconspicuously as possible, I try to get a better look at him. I wonder where he’s from. We don’t often have transfer students around here. District 12 isn’t exactly crawling with opportunities for new families. But he looks pretty healthy, all things considered, and he seems to be buzzing with energy. I need him to turn it down a notch; it’s cramping my “I hate everything” style.

Peeta Mellark follows me for the rest of the day. Not on purpose, I’m sure, but he shows up in all of my afternoon classes. First there’s art, where he creates a pretty fantastic charcoal drawing of Delly Cartwright’s hands (naturally, she volunteered.) In cooking class, everyone salivates over the cheese buns he makes (which, I have to admit, are divine.) And in our oratory studies class, he volunteers to give a speech on-the-spot, obviously unprepared as it’s his first day here. But we are transfixed nonetheless, hanging onto every word that falls from his lips.

I’m beginning to think Peeta Mellark is just a figment of my imagination. Maybe I created him to spice up the day. People can’t possibly be that good at everything, can they?

But as Madge and I begin our trek back to the Seam, I hear a voice calling out my name. “Katniss!” I stop abruptly and turn on my heel, noticing him several feet away. He takes several purposeful strides in our direction until he’s standing right in front of us. “Hey, how are you doing?” he asks, as if we actually know each other. I haven’t spoken a word to him since “I don’t think so.”

“I’m fine,” I say, my lips twisting awkwardly. “How was your first day?”

“Oh, it was great!” he replies with genuine enthusiasm. “I love this place.”

I lilt an eyebrow in his direction. “Really?” Nobody loves this place. “Where are you from again?”

“District 13,” he says. “When you have to stay cramped up underground for most of your life, anything is better in comparison. I’m just glad I finally get to breathe some fresh air and take in the sunshine.” I nod. I suppose that makes sense. “My parents have been saving up money for years. And we’ve just opened up a new bakery in town. I decorate the cakes if you ever want to check it out." Talk of cake I could never afford makes my stomach grumble, but I thank him for the offer. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. Where are my manners? Is this your friend?”

Madge introduces herself, and as I watch the two of them converse, I study him even further. Even though I would never admit it aloud, Peeta Mellark is pretty handsome. Very handsome actually. And he's clearly very charming. But he's nice. Too nice. I can barely tolerate Madge when she's in a good mood. Smiling and being pleasant is not my forte. I have too many other important things to worry about.

I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I don't even register my own name when Madge says it.

"Katniss?" She waves her hand in front of my face. “Earth to Katniss.” When I look at her with a dumbfounded expression, she says, “You really went somewhere else for a moment, didn’t you?”

Peeta chuckles at my absentmindedness. Trying to regain my dignity, I ask, “What were you guys talking about?”

“Oh, we were just comparing notes about Miss Trinket’s class,” Madge says.

I nod, and the three of us stand there awkwardly once again.

Finally, Peeta breaks the silence. "I like your braid," he tells me with a smile. His eyes twinkle like the stars, and for some reason, I feel warmth spreading within me at his words.

Madge suddenly nudges me with her elbow, and when I catch her gaze, her brow furrows in confusion. "What's wrong with your face?" she wonders.

I place my hands upon my face, touching the flesh as though it will give me answers to her bizarre staring. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm not sure how to explain it. But there's something strange happening with your cheeks." She digs around in her bag until she finds a compact mirror. Then she hands it to me.

I glance into the mirror and immediately understand her confusion. The warmth I felt at Peeta's compliment traveled to my cheeks, and for some reason, it's causing an unnatural reaction in my usually sallow complexion. In fact, I don't even know how to describe this peculiar hue on my skin. But it's as though someone has taken the heat from a fire and brushed it across my flesh.

"Are you sick?" Madge questions.

"I don't think so," I tell her. I rub at my cheeks to see if this affliction will disappear, but it doesn't. Then I remember Peeta standing right there, and when I look at him, he's watching me with restrained curiosity. I feel even warmer under his probing eyes, and my cheeks flush a darker shade of this mysterious tint. I sure hope I'm not sick. Maybe I ate something that's giving me a rash. But it doesn't itch, just feels warm.

"I like it," Peeta decides.

"You like it?" I ask with bewilderment.

"Yes, it's pretty. You look like the first bite of a crisp, juicy apple."

I gape at him like I imagine a fish might do. Did he just imply he wants to eat me? Strangely enough, the thought makes me feel even hotter, as though there are embers burning in my veins. I must be sick. There is no other reasonable explanation.

"Your mother will probably know what to do," Madge says. "It was nice meeting you, Peeta. But we should be on our way."

"It was nice meeting the both of you," he says good-naturedly. He sticks out his hand, and Madge politely grasps onto it. But I fear what will happen to my cheeks if I touch him, so I just nod my head casually and chew on my lip. "Katniss," he acknowledges when he realizes I'm not going to take his offered hand.

"I wouldn't want you to catch anything from me," I mutter as an apology.

"Well, I don't think that would be so bad," he winks.

Madge giggles.

My stomach leaps into my throat.

"Hope to see you around sometime," he adds. I watch him intently as he strolls away, my vision practically blurring because I'm staring so hard. When he's finally out of earshot, I exhale every breath my body had seized.

"He's really nice," Madge pipes up. Suddenly, she pats my arm. "Katniss, look!"

I follow the trajectory of her gaze and notice what's caught her attention. In the wake of Peeta's path is a singular dandelion. The petals on a dandelion are usually pretty dull, but this flower is so bright, it almost hurts my eyes.

"Do you think it's sick as well?" Madge says aloud.

It doesn't look sick. It looks more vibrant and healthy than any flower I've ever seen.

"It can't be," I shake my head in rebuttal. I know it makes no sense, but I feel like someone bottled up the sun and injected it straight into the flower's DNA. I've ever seen anything more beautiful in my life. It fills me with a sense of cheerfulness, something I certainly never expected from a dandelion.

"What's happening, Katniss?"

"I have no idea."

Madge wants to take the flower with us to show to my mother, but I convince her we should not intervene with such wonder. So we head back to my house, but unfortunately, my mother doesn't have any answers about what's going on with my cheeks. She makes me some herbal tea that I drink with dinner, and I try to engage in casual conversation with Prim, but she keeps staring at me throughout our meal.

"You're making me feel self-conscious, Prim," I tell her, though I know she's not trying to.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," she says, her voice filled with awe. "I've just never seen anything like it."

Squeezing her hand with reassurance, I say, "I know. I haven't either."

When I wake the next morning, my cheeks are no different. But I do notice several other splotches on my arms. They aren't like my cheeks or the dandelion but something else altogether. I know people will look at me strangely when I go to class, but I can't stay home. We have an important exam today.

I hear shrieking across through the hall, and I scamper to my feet quickly, dashing into Prim's room. When I see her, I stop dead in my tracks. She's holding onto the ends of her hair, looking at me with a mixture of fear and wonder. Gingerly, I step up to her and touch the silky strands.

"Your hair, it's like the dandelion."

"It is?"

I nod. "It's a softer version, not quite as bright. But it's very similar."

She notices the splotches on my arms and asks, "Are we dying, Katniss?"

I ponder her question for a moment before answering, "No. I think we're finally living, Prim."

I see Peeta later that day, and his hair looks just like Prim's. He asks me if I would like to have lunch with him, so I agree. We start talking (well, mostly he talks), and I find myself disappearing into his words. He has such a way with them, it's pretty extraordinary. And then slowly, his eyes start to contract, transforming into my favorite shade yet.

Noticing my expression, he says, "What is it?"

"Your eyes changed," I tell him.

"Like my hair or your cheeks?"

I shake my head. "No, but this one might be my favorite yet."

"What's it like?"

I don't have a mirror to show him. So I try to think of the best way to describe it. "This might sound strange…"

He laughs at that, his eyes shimmering. "Katniss, at this point, I'm pretty sure nothing could surprise me."

I swallow slowly, conjuring up a memory from a long time ago.

"When I was a child, my father used to take me to this lake. It was pretty well hidden; nobody knew about it but us," I say softly, getting lost in my reverie. "He taught me how to swim there. I was frightened at first, but when I became submerged in the water, it felt like that was where I belonged. The lake was just so peaceful, and swimming with my father brought me such a sense of contentment. Looking into your eyes, I feel like I'm back in that lake. Cool, calm, invigorated. And maybe my father's there with me."

Peeta absorbs my words carefully. And then he says, "I think that's the best explanation I've ever heard. And probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said about me."

I smile shyly at him before looking up. And that's when I see it, bleeding through the sky the way ink bleeds through paper. Peeta's eyes are painting the heavens, their magnificent shade cutting through the soot and washing the world with its beauty. Both of us watch mesmerized, soaking in the single greatest thing we've ever seen.

I hear groups of people murmuring with panic and alarm, thinking the Capitol has done this to us as some form of punishment. And I don't know whether it's the Capitol's doing or not. But I can't imagine that anything so magical and picturesque could be a form of punishment.

Peeta walks me home that day, his fingers linked through mine. And then he promises to be my new walking buddy before placing a gentle kiss on my cheek. The splotches on my arms begin to spread even more, and soon, I barely recognize my own reflection.

Over the next couple of weeks, we spend countless hours together, walking to and from school, chatting during lunch, helping each other with homework. And little by little, everything starts to change. There's widespread panic at first, especially when inanimate objects develop the same affliction as us humans. Caesar Flickerman, everybody's favorite talking mouthpiece, comes on Capitol TV to ensure us all that this is not the Capitol's doing, but they will get to the bottom of it.

There's nothing to get to the bottom of. Whatever is happening keeps spreading, and nobody is immune to it. After a while, the public discourse begins to change, and many even view it as a good thing. Our eyes have to adjust to the brightness and overstimulation, but it's worth it. No more monotony, no more dullness. The attitude shift brings rejuvenation to the district, as well as hope.

The leaves on the trees transform into what I decide is my favorite shade of all. Peeta likes sunset because it brings a beautiful, warm hue he dubs orange. We decide to name these new shades. There's blue like the sky or Peeta's eyes; dandelions are yellow like lemons and the sun; apples and blood are red, as are my lips, especially when I've been kissing Peeta for a while.

Each day, we grow more and more inseparable. And each day, there are even more shades to discover.

There's a man named Beetee who lives in District 3. They say he's something of a genius, and I've seen him interviewed on Capitol TV a lot lately. He's discovered something quite amazing, that which he calls a rainbow. The rainbow encompasses all of our new shades and hues. But it usually only appears in the sky after a rain shower. He's not sure of the cause yet, but he thinks it has to do with light refraction, whatever that means.

When Peeta kisses me, it's divine, but when we make love for the first time, I swear I become the rainbow itself, splintering into reds and yellows and blues and greens. My insides light up with fiery red passion, and when it's over, I stare into his blue eyes, seeking that comfort and steadfastness that he always brings with him. It lulls me into a peaceful state of sleep.

Laughter returns to the streets. People make new plans for their future. Happiness abounds. And we don't just survive anymore, we live.

One night, I lay in bed with Peeta, my fingers tracing the contours of his chest. "Where did you come from?" I murmur softly into his skin.

"I told you that already."

I shake my head slowly. "Not what district. I mean, where did you _come_ from?"

He pauses to consider my question. Then he places his hand over my heart and whispers, "I came from here."

I smile at his response. "And that's where you'll stay." I bite my lip and then add, "Sometimes I think this is all a dream, and I'm going to wake up back in my old skin, without you here. That thought scares me. But it's not a dream, is it?"

"No, it's real," he assures me.

"And you love me, right? That’s real?"

He grins at me softly before brushing my lips with his own. "That's definitely real."

Peeta loves me.

The world is vivid with color.


End file.
